Stages of Grief
by mcgonnagle
Summary: Oneshot focusing on Winry‘s reaction to Ed and Al‘s failed transmutation,or, Winry finds that the anger stage consists largely of one question: Who‘s to blame?


Ed had always been - loud. About everything. No matter if it was winning at a cards game (even though he cheated); figuring out an equation,arguing that milk was the most vile thing ever to exist on earth, and that if Granny wanted him to drink it so bad, he should get to decide their food for the next month.

Granny had, of course, refused and told him that he of all people should not throw away a good calcium source, what with his bones being the size of a hamster's or something.

At that point, Ed had sprung up from the table and started yelling about equivalent exchange, and NOT BEING SHORT, pointing his finger at Granny and calling her a stupid old hag.

Now he could do neither of those things. Winry choked on the smile that had formed at the fond memories. How that sounded. Fond memories , from two days ago.

And yet, she knew that everything before two days ago was another lifetime, just like that day when the letter with the dragon seal had arrived and Granny had emptied an entire bottle of the whisky she hated at ten in the morning.

She shook herself harshly. Ed and Al weren't dead. No matter how _wrong_ it was, Al downstairs in the kitchen, creaking and clanking, every step echoing both in the quiet house and on the inside of the ginormous, empty armour that was now him.

And Ed right here on the bed next to her, pale and sweaty, and quiet, save for the occasional shiver or rattled intake of breath.

It was so wrong. Ed was never quiet. Especially not when it came to injuries. Whenever him and Al fighting got him some bruises, or something in the forest gave him a tiny scratch, he'd complain and whine about it for days on end.

Every single vaccination had been a nightmare, sometimes he still liked to bring up Granny „viciously stabbing his arm showcasing her mad, sadistic tendencies" during height or milk arguments.

Well, maybe Granny would cut him some slack with the milk, now that he didn't have that many bones that needed calcium- she bit her lip sharply and dug her fingernails into her palms so it would leave white crescent marks, clenching her eyes tightly shut to block out any more morbid, cutting thoughts and against the tears she felt clawing at her eyes again.

That had been one of the only things that Ed had said during his brief times of consciousness. „Damn it Winry, don't cry", while she and Granny had been busy removing definitely-not-sterile bandages from his still bleeding stumps.

Alphonse had told them later, with a breaking voice that would have been under tears if he still had a body, that Ed had apparently done the leg himself, half-mad from pain and shock as he must've been. Because then Al had woken up in the armour to find his older brother passed out with two missing limbs.

Al had bandaged the arm stump as best as he could, which wasn't very good;Al being freshly thrown into the huge bulky armour he couldn't control all the force he suddenly had, let alone do more complex motoric motions. After removing the loosely wrapped, dripping fabric there'd been finger-shaped bruises on Ed's shoulder and upper back. Winry hoped Al hadn't seen them.

She turned to his motionless body on the bed next to her, stroking the sweaty bangs away from his forehead and taking his left hand in hers.

It was still cold, too cold for Ed, who always had warm hands- even in winter his hands never seemed to get cold, and during his nicer moments he'd warm her fingers (that were always freezing despite the gloves) by holding them between his like a hand-toaster -

So she clutched the one hand that was left and brought it up to her face to blow some hot air on it.

He didn't even twitch.

A wave of - anguish? rage?- rose up in her and she pressed the fingers that she'd interlaced with his together so hard that they both became white. A strangled sort of sob escaped her and she brought their joined hands to her forehead.

„Damn it Ed, why did you do it?" she whispered, her eyes closed.

She knew why, of course, Ed had never accepted anything as impossible. When their first grade teacher had explained that humans could never fly, Ed had just fixated him with those strange golden eyes and asked intensely „Why not?"

The teacher's argument that the bones were too heavy was considered briefly, then Ed had decided „with alchemy it would be possible". He had sounded so determined the teacher had just laughed awkwardly and then quickly changed the subject.

So of course he would try to bring their mother back. Rules had never mattered to him, apart from seeing them as a challenge. _But couldn't those damn books that the brothers were always studying have explained it better, why it was forbidden to transmute a human? Surely if the books had said what happened he wouldn't have_ \- she wanted to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that said he would. If he thought his theory was correct.

„He never would've put Al at risk though! If he had known about the risks, he never would have let Al do it, and Al would have never let Ed do something like that alone, so everyone would be okay!" Her voice choked up at the end and she really hoped Granny hadn't heard her, yelling at voices in her head.

She stood up abruptly and turned to check the clock on the wall. Good. It was nearly time to measure Ed's vital signs again.

As she pumped up the blood pressure cuff she nearly smiled, strangely content to know that the books were at fault and that she'd succeeded in stopping the carrousel of angry, vicious,hurting thoughts by spotless logic.

Still smiling, she took Ed's wrist to feel for the pulse. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one - _you never saw those books though- ‚_ shut up!- ninet- damn it now she had lost count- _you don't know what those books said, maybe they did say exactly what would happen to anyone who tried- but then Ed would never have let Al do it and_ \- she'd won this argument before, hadn't she, so why was her _o_ wn mind still fighting to- _alright, so even if the books only said don't do human transmutation and nothing more, they still made a decision. You and Granny weren't enough._

Winry's hands were shaking wildly at this point; she had to concentrate not to press down too hard on Ed's artery. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

I lost my parents too! I know how this feels! she wanted to scream, but evidently there must have been some difference between their feelings, because she was still standing here and Ed and Al were-

 _Exactly. You know how it feels to lose one's parent. And you knew Ed's character. You should have known that they would try to bring her back-_

And Granny, she was the only adult here, and yet she had done nothing, always just standing there with that wretched pipe- but then again, all adults eventually leave her alone, just like her parents had done, maybe that was why she hadn't fallen into despair deep enough to try something radical like Ed and Al, they'd loved their mother more than she had -

‚Why didn't they come to me? Why couldn't I be their family? Why was it always barriers between us, secrets and lies? I tried so hard and they went behind our back and now Al's lost his body and Ed's a cripple'-

She bit her lip so that it bled and dropped Ed's hand on the blanket, disgusted with herself. She had never used that word. Ever. Working with automail patients, she knew how much it _hurt_ them; she hated those assholes implying that someone was in any way less of a person because of an injury.

She wanted to become an automail mechanic like Granny, it was her dream to heal people, help them stand back up. And now she had used that insult, on _Ed_ of all people, the person she cared about most.

Dazed, she walked over to the door. How could she even look him in the eye now? Granny should better take over everything, no telling what mistakes her horrible mind would make, and then Ed could die because she didn't catch signs of sepsis, or thrombosis, or -maybe his organs got damaged too?- and it would all be her _fault_ -

Ed coughed behind her. She turned around and knelt down next to the bed in a flash. „Hey there.How are you feeling?"

His eyelids were fluttering open, but when he finally turned his head on the pillow to look at her his gaze was still glassy and unfocused. She grasped his hand again, hoping that maybe the touch would help him focus. „Hey. Hey Ed. Can you hear me? Can you tell me how bad the pain is?" _On a scale from zero to ten preferably?_ The last five times she'd filled out the vital signs form, that panel had stayed empty due to Ed being either unconscious or unresponsive to questions. The first form only had a number on it because Granny had told her to „put it down as a seven" when Ed had groaned while they were cleaning and rebandaging his wounds.

„sss- I- s'alright" he mumbled. „Al?" „He's fine, he's downstairs in the kitchen, probably helping Granny with something", she answered, doing her best to make her voice sound chipper and unconcerned. _Just pretend like he's not actually a seven feet tall armour worried about accidentally ripping a door out of the frame again, just Al, helping Granny prepare dinner. Like any other day, until two days ago._

„Would you like me to go get him?"

Something flashed in Ed's eyes, before he closed them again and turned his head away from her. „No" he said, and the tone of his voice was the most painful sound she had ever heard. It made her gut twist up and her heart clench and all of her hair stand on end. Against her thumb, she felt his pulse flutter like the wings of a dying butterfly. „ _Never feel a pulse with your thumb, Winry. It's got its own pulse, so you'll confuse it with your patient's."_ Her father had told her that, on one of their rare visits home.

And suddenly she understood. It was guilt in Ed's voice, that all-wrecking , devastating conviction that it was all his fault.

Tears began to run down her cheeks, but she managed to keep her voice calm and gentle. „I'm just gonna finish checking your vitals, okay? Don't worry, it's not gonna hurt."

Ed seemed to have slipped out of it again, mumbling incoherently.

Winry went about the rest of her tasks, checking the bandages for leaking, the catheter output and at last taking his pulse.

Ultimately she inserted the thermometer into his ear to take his temperature. As she lowered herself down towards him to look at the display, she finally managed to make out what he was whispering.

„I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry"


End file.
